Being His
by Queen's Own
Summary: COMPLETE It was what most of us thought should happen: Alanna married Jon. But what if it wasn't the right choice? What if it trapped them both? PLEASE RR, NO FLAMES.
1. Being His

Queen's Own: Siri has finally gotten her wish. I am writing her 'Alanna and Jon get married' fic. What she didn't expect was that my new muse took said plotline and turned it into a much less fluffy –and I think more realistic and unique- fic. Everyone, say hello to Vira. She's a little winged horse and very shy.

Vira: Hello.

Siri: I would like to put in a few words, as well as a disclaimer. First off, we don't own any of these characters, with the exception of a few, which will be very obvious once you start reading. Second-

Queen's Own: Siri, we know what you think regarding Alanna and Jon. Now let's get on with the fic.

Siri: sulks

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* * *

Shouts echoed down the richly decorated corridor, bouncing off the wooden paneling and barely muffled by the expensive carpets underfoot. The few people who hadn't had the good fortune to be able to avoid this part of the palace hurried about their business, heads ducked, trying to ignore the obvious sounds of fighting. There was only one little girl, a spitting image of her mother and richly dressed, huddled in the gleaming doorway of the room where the shouting issued from.

A red-haired man ducked suddenly around the corner. Spotting the little girl, he beckoned urgently. "Highness!" he called, in hushed tones, darting worried glances at the door. "Princess Lianne." The four year old looked up, before running down the hall to him and flinging herself into his arms. He knelt to pick her up, cradling her in his arms.

"Uncle Thom," she sobbed. "Uncle Thom- they're fighting again." He stroked her red hair as she sobbed into his shoulder. Casting a sad glance back at the closed door, he carried her away.

* * *

* * *

Amethyst eyes blazed as her husband spoke again. "I will not tolerate such behavior from my queen."

"So," she challenged, mantling. "That's what I am, what I've earned? The title of being yours? After all I've done, all I've given up for you? I am no one's, Jonathan of Conte, especially not yours."

"So being Queen of Tortall has bored you?" he taunted. "What more could you want- though I suppose being Queen of the Rogue would be more to your taste-"

"Don't you dare bring him into this," she screamed. "This has nothing at all to do with him. This is all your fault, so don't even try to blame anyone else. You selfish-"

"I can do whatever I want!" He smiled, cold and arrogant. "I'm king, aren't I?"

"Yes," she snarled. "A selfish, arrogant, lying bastard of one. And before you say so, yes he would make a better king than you. Roger would make a better king than you. Thom would make better king than you. I would make a better ruler than you. Any other man in this whole damned kingdom would make a better king than you, you-" She shrieked in rage as he slapped her hard across the face.

"Bitch," he snarled. Her eyes glittered dangerously, emphasized by the red spreading over one cheek.

"You're just jealous," she said coldly. "Jealous and afraid that your queen might not think you manly, might offend your kingliness. You're no king," she spat. "You don't deserve your throne. You can't even defend yourself against your wife." This time, she gave no sign of recognizing the slap that cracked across her other cheek. She punched him coldly in the jaw.

"You are no king," she repeated coldly. "Your father would be ashamed." His eyes met hers, cold and angry. When they'd first married, such a look would have made her anger fall away, forgotten. Now, after five years of marriage, she ignored it. His hand lashed out, and she fell to the floor. She struggled to her feet as he advanced menacingly. His hand lashed out again. This time, she caught his slap and managed to get in a punch or two before he took advantage of his superior strength and size to slap her across the room, hitting her head on the bedpost and falling senseless to the floor. He stalked out of the room, with nary a backward glance at his wife, Alanna of Conte.

* * *

* * *

The world swam and her head ached as she opened her eyes. Actually, her entire body ached, her head throbbed with pain. A careful prod caused her to wince as she encountered dried blood mixing with the red of her hair. Calling her purple Gift, she healed the head wound as best she could, before moving to several of the more obvious bruises. She didn't dare go to Duke Baird- it wouldn't do for people to know the king beat his wife. Silently, she bathed the blood from her hair before slipping on a robe and climbing into bed. She curled up in her cold, empty bed unworried. Jon wouldn't return tonight, she knew that with a cold certainty. She quickly slipped off into sleep. And if the pillow was wet with tears, well, who would know.

* * *

* * *

A flurry of nobles followed the woman in green. A catlike man walked beside her, followed by a nurse. She carried a small child, blessed with black hair and blue eyes like his father. No one says, but everyone knows who the baby is. Born within a few weeks of Prince Jasson, the queen's youngest, he is the king's fourth child, his bastard. Roger.

Yet Delia flaunts him, proud. The nobles forming her train are flaunted too, in the face of the woman who approached, alone, from the other end of the hall. They are all tools to her, steps on the ladder to power.

Every one of the nobles fell silent at the sight of the woman in purple. Delia smirked slightly as her eyes coldly examined her rival, the only woman who has something she doesn't: the title of queen and the position of being the mother of Jonathan's heir. She smiled coldly at what her eyes observed. The queen's red hair was dull beneath the gold circlet around her brow. Her dress hung limp and unflattering on her too thin figure. Though she has borne three children, she doesn't eat enough. Her eyes didn't sparkle anymore either. They are cold and lifeless, almost tired. And everyone knew why, including her. Especially her.

Delia curtsied to the Queen. But it mocked her, rather than honoring her. She didn't dip nearly low enough, and her eyes twinkled coldly as she said, "Your Majesty," as though it was a joke to be shared and laughed at. The Queen nodded coldly.

"Lady Delia," she acknowledged. "Lord Alexander." The catlike man, once her friend, bowed, silent. The slightly stressed titles made it very clear that she didn't think either were much of a noble at all. The arrogance in her tone, made Delia's smile flicker slightly. The Queen was not quite as dead as she looked.

Delia's smile became cruel. "Have you met my son, your Majesty?" Alanna looked at the infant, and nodded.

"Indeed I have," she said coldly. "And I say that for your sake it is a good thing little Roger looks so much like his father; otherwise, no one would know for sure whose son he is. Or is he named for his father after all, Delia?"

"Are you calling me a whore?" Delia asked coldly.

"Why else would you have a son and not be married?" She boldly locked amethyst eyes with emerald. Delia glared back, angrily. Neither the king's wife, nor his mistress would look away. Finally, Roger began crying, and the mistress was forced to look away to tend to her son, leading the away with only a single backward glance at the queen. The queen stood defiantly until the party turned a corner, before turning and fleeing back to her suite, to cry over Jonathan yet again.

* * *

* * *

She only cries when no one is looking. It's almost surprising how often that is. To most of the court, she is nothing. Her friends belong either to Jonathan or Delia or are beyond her reach. And maybe it's all her fault. Maybe she is as worthless as Jon thinks her. Purple eyes blur with tears as memories haunt her.

__

_

* * *

_

_"Alanna?"__ Raoul, looking relieved to have found her, stepped into her tent. She looked up in surprise._

_"What are you doing here?" she asked._

_"Jonathan sent me," he replied. "Listen, Alanna- he wants you back in Corus. The king- their Majesties- they're dead." The ground seemed to fall out from under her, and she packed and mounted Moonlight in almost a daze. Raoul and a squad of the Own escorted her at their quickest pace back to Corus. The king needed her, causing them to spur their horses on all the more quickly._

__

_

* * *

_

_"Alanna?!"__ Jonathan rose from his desk, to greet her, surprised. Suddenly, he pulled her into a rough embrace, burying his face in her hair. "I need you," he whispered. "You have no idea- he killed himself, Alanna. He killed himself, and now- I'm the- King. There's an entire country depending on me, and- Gods!" He straightened and pulled away. "I'm so sorry for what happened in the desert, Alanna. That was- a mistake. I still love you, and I need you, Alanna." He cupped her chin in his hands. "Marry me, please," he begged. "Please- I need you so much, Alanna. I need you as my queen." She stood there, shocked. _

_"I-" she stammered. "I-" The raw pleading in his eyes struck her as much as it scared her. _Tortall needs him- and he needs me. _"Yes," she whispered. He kissed her fiercely. _

_"Thank you," he murmured. "My queen." At that moment she loved those words, convinced she had done the right thing for her country. How much in later days she would rue saying what she had. And how much she would hate those words. _

__

_

* * *

_

_"So."__ His hazel eyes were guarded. "You're marryin' Jon. You're- goin' t' be his queen."_

_"Yes," she said, for the first time feeling slightly reluctant to say those words. "But- that doesn't change anything." But it did, and she realized that as she uttered those words. "You will come to the wedding, won't you?" He shrugged._

_"I may be here," he said. "But business is callin' me to Port Caynn- an' I'm goin' t' be leavin' Corus soon." _

_"George-" she pleaded. "Please don't leave! I'll miss-" But she faltered. _

_"Alanna!"__ It was __Gary__. "Alanna- Jon needs you- something about gown fittings. Oh, hello George." George nodded a greeting._

_"I'll be goin' then," he said. Then, he bowed. "Your Majesty." Pressing something into her hand, he turned and left. Feeling as though she'd been struck, Alanna followed __Gary__, slipping the packet into her dress. Later, she opened it, to find a signet ring and a note. The ring bore her crest of a Lioness Rampant. The note read- _Alanna- You and I both know why I cannot stay in Corus. I'm going to Port Caynn. You can always find me there. Stay my beautiful Lioness Rampant. Don't ever let Jon –or anyone else- change you. All my love, George. _He hadn't been at her wedding._

__

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* * *

_

_"Jon?" She slipped into his study late one night, dressed in a robe. He turned to look at her._

_"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. _

_She smiled, in spite of herself. "Nothing. In fact- Jon, we're- I mean, I- I'm pregnant." He stood, grinning and spun her around, kissing her fiercely. _

_"I'm going to be a father," he murmured, awed. Her smile widened. _

__

_

* * *

_

_"Jon?" It was soon after Roald's birth and she still wasn't feeling quite herself. Unsure, due to their recent and ever more frequent fights, she felt she had to ask, and yet was afraid of the answer. "Jon, why is Delia of Eldorne back at court?" _

_"Her?" He gestured dismissively. "Why do you notice?" She shook her head a little._

_"It's nothing," she lied. But she still felt a faint chill of foreboding as she gazed at the beautiful green-clad woman. _

_It was not three weeks later, that Jon was first missing from their bed, late one night around Midwinter. The next night, he was back, all apologies about work that had to be completed. But he continued to be absent sometimes in the month when Jasson was conceived. First once a week, then every few days, then every day he didn't come. He always pleaded overwork, and she believed him- until she saw the triumphant smile sported by Delia of Eldorne and the way Jon's eyes lingered on her figure. And when the other woman began showing signs of pregnancy at the same time as the queen, she knew what all their fights had come to. And after Jasson was born, he started hitting her. And she was alone, all alone, so, so, unbelievably alone._

* * *

The Queen of Tortall sobs, safe in her own bed, the one place where her husband will never be again.

* * *

* * *

Shouts echoed down the richly paneled corridor. This time, it's a boy that huddles in the door. He looks exactly like his father, until you meet his eyes. They speak of his mother. His sister looks around the corner this time. Purple eyes recognize purple and the four year old takes the three year old in her arms. "'Anne," he sobs. "'Anne, they're fighting again!"

"I know, Roald." Her tears soak into his black hair. "I know." They sit there, listening to their father's roars of fury, their mother's shrieks of rage. After a time, their uncle and their nurse come and pick them up, carrying them back to the nursery. "They're fighting again, Uncle Thom," Lianne whispers.

"I know," he says soothingly. "I know, Lianne." Again, he casts a sad look at the door between himself and his sister. _And they're not ever going to stop._

King and Queen live in a golden cage, trapped by bad decisions and promises they won't break, tormented by memories that they can't return to and dreams that will never be. And miles away in Port Caynn, a hazel eyed man will wait for his queen to find the key. And wait, and wait, and wait, for the rest of his life. For the key was lost to them, a long time ago.

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Queen's Own: Well I did succeed thoroughly in depressing myself. Isn't that just sad? Poor Alanna, poor Jon, poor Alanna and Jon's kids. Anyways, please review! I would really like some feedback on this (actually Vira just wants to laugh in Siri's face). Any questions that you have, I will try to answer if you give me an email address. Thank you for reading my fic! Wind to thy Wings! -Queen's Own


	2. Epilogue I

Queen's Own: This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but so many people told me I should continue it that I felt guilty. And then it ended up being an epic instead of an epilogue. So I split it into two chapters. This is the second-to-last chapter of Being His. Oh, and a random note, I'm listening to my sister playing Avril Lavigne's song "My Happy Ending" which I think sort of fits this fic. So does Evanescence's "My Immortal" from George to Alanna. Awww!! Thanks so much to Gauri and Teresa for their feedback, you guys make great betas!

Vira: The only thing we own is the plot and any characters you don't recognize, aka Lianne, Roald, Jasson and Roger. Everything else is a creation of the wonderful Ms. Pierce.

This is set fifteen years after the first chap. Lianne is nineteen and surprisingly, still unmarried, Roald is eighteen and a knight, Jasson is sixteen, Gary's squire and mostly tucked in the corner and ignored, and Roger is sixteen and again, most people politely ignore him and pretend he doesn't exist.

* * *

Epilogue I

Lianne of Conte, oldest child and only daughter of King Jonathan IV, bent her head in mourning as she walked along behind the ranks of men in black. Her hair was done up in an elaborate knot on the back of her head so none of her hair fell to conceal the tears welling up in her eyes. Her throat ached with the tears she could not shed. It had been three days since that accident. Three days since her mother had died.

_Her mother's gelding had been incredibly placid. He'd needed to be for the queen to ride side saddle in full skirts. So as a groom boosted her mother into the saddle, no one expected the dependable bay to rear. Lianne's red roan palfrey danced out of the way as the horse took off, eyes rolling with pain and fear. _

_Time seemed to slow as the gelding approached the fence, then jumped it. And the queen had tumbled slowly in a flurry of blue skirts onto the hard earth. Lianne had sat, deaf and dumb, as her heart pounded in her ears. _It can't be. I'm dreaming, she's okay, she's got to be.

"'_Anne!" Roald tugged on her elbow, tears welling in his eyes. "'Anne, you're the only Healer here- you need to see if she's okay." Flanked by Roald and Jasson, she'd proceeded forward to where an anxious groom knelt over her mother's body. Silent, she dismounted and suddenly stumbled the last few steps to her mother's side. _

"_Mother," she whispered, clinging to the last shreds of composure to keep from wailing with fear. "Please be okay." Shakily, she extended a hand, only to yank it back. Her composure broke, and she buried her face in her hands, dumbly denying it, shaking her head. "No, no- it's not true, it isn't true- she's not-" _

_Strong hands pulled her to her feet, and she clung to the comforting shoulder, sobbing as her brother's tears soaked into her hair. _

But now she was alone, following her mother's funeral procession, garbed not in mud-splashed purple, but in somber deep lilac that could have been easily mistaken for a dark grey. Roald walked further on with Jasson and her father. She made no effort to hide the tears streaming down her face. _Tortall's Queen is dead._

It felt like hours later that they reached the burial grounds. Now, she stepped along to stand between Roald and Roger. The four of them held hands as a Priest of the Black God stepped forward to speak the funeral speech. Though Roger had been a symbol of all that was turbulent in Lianne's life, the three true-born children of Jonathan had gravitated to his unloved bastard. He had gradually been accepted into their circle, becoming their fourth sibling. He could have been Jasson's twin- the two looked enough alike. Now, she clung to his hand until her fingers were white.

"Delia left court," Roger whispered quietly. He never referred to her as 'Mother'. "With Sir Alexander in disgrace. They proved it- she paid the stablehand to put a thorn under your mother's saddle pad. She'll be brought back soon enough, I suppose. That's treason- she killed Her Majesty." His voice became almost choked on that last sentence. His mother had killed the mother of his best friends, the woman she had so dreadfully wronged almost seventeen years ago.

Lost in thought, he put his arm around Lianne's waist, as she struggled to keep her composure. Distracted, it wasn't until the queen's casket had been lowered into the damp earth that they realized who was conspicuous only by his absence: the king.

_

* * *

_

_She's dead_. The words echoed over and over in his head. _She's dead- and it's the fault of a woman who bore me a bastard son_. He closed sapphire eyes in an effort to dissuade memory. But, like so many things in his life, attempting to prevent it, only drew it nearer.

* * *

_**Am** I your friend?"_

"_I do believe you are. I'd like you to be."_

"_Well, then I am- Jonathan."_

_**In** all my centuries, I have not known such a jest! Young lion- see your companion for what she really is." _

"_She?" Confusion shot through his head as Alan doubled over in pain. But as he straightened, the _Ysandir's _remark became all too clear. _

"_I may be a girl, but I can defend –or attack- as well as any boy!" She blushed. "Highness- I-"_

"_Later." The explanations he so desperately wanted would have to wait. He handed her his tunic. "Just- who are you?"_

"_Alanna of Trebond, Highness." _

_**I'm** going to travel and do great deeds." He laughed and ruffled her hair._

"_I believe you. Don't forget your friends when you're a legend."_

_She laughed. "You'll be more famous than me! You'll be king one day!"_

"_And I'll need all my friends. Will you still serve me when you're doing great deeds?" _

"_I'm your vassal. I'll never forget that."_

_**Alanna** of Trebond- I will be honored if you will serve as my squire."_

_She kissed his hand, and he saw the tears that she tried to blink away. "My life and sword are yours, Highness."_

_****_

_**He** looked at her, lying there on the bed, finally awake, as she squeezed his hand. "Thank you for taking care of me Jon." Reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from her face, he found that he had –half on purpose- brought their faces very close together. And he could stand it. He kissed her._

_**I'm** scared." Her eyes were bright, and she had never looked so beautiful to him as she did now. "Help me, please."_

"_I'm scared too," he said, voice rough. "At least we can be scared together." _

_**Come** as my betrothed." The words lay between them, and he could feel the tension suddenly appear._

"_Jon, I can't!" she'd finally exclaimed. _

"_Why not?" Why couldn't she marry him?_

"_Because I'm a scandal. I killed your cousin. For six years I was disguised as a boy-"_

_Tired of her arguments, he interrupted her. "I knew what you were, for most of that time." _Please say yes, Alanna.

_**At** least they're women, Lady Alanna!" he said. "At least they know how to act like women." Silence stretched between them as he watched her grow angrier and angrier. And at that moment, he was glad to see it._

_Finally, she hissed, "I refuse to marry you!"_

_Enraged, he'd replied, "And I think I'm well out of a potential disaster!"_

"_Obviously! Find yourself someone more feminine, Jonathan of Conte!" She stalked out, and he watched her go, feeling rather proud and vindictive. It was only later, riding home, that he'd realized how much of a fool he'd been. _

_**Alanna?"** Footsteps could only mean one person, since he'd forbidden anyone else to disturb him. He rose from his desk to greet her, surprised and relieved. Suddenly, unable to help himself, he'd pulled her into his arms. "I need you," he whispered into the red hair he'd missed so much. "You have no idea- he killed himself, Alanna. He killed himself and now- I'm the- King. There's an entire country depending on me, and- Gods!" He straightened, pulling away so he could see her face. _Please say yes._ "I'm so sorry for what happened in the desert, Alanna. That was- a mistake. I still love you and I need you, Alanna. Marry me, please." He was begging now, unashamed. "Please- I love you so much Alanna, I need you as my queen." She was obviously shocked._

"_I- I-" And then came the word he was pleading her to say with every fiber of his being. "Yes."_

"_Thank you," he murmured, happy for the first time since his parents had died. "My Queen."_

_

* * *

_

_Sometimes, we don't realize how much of a fool we've been until the consequences of our actions have caught up with us in an irreversible form. _Caught in sadness and self-blame, the King of Tortall lowered his head into his hands and cried. He didn't know who he was crying for, or even what. All he knew was that he couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop grieving. He grieved for the loss of the most incredible woman he'd ever known, the woman who'd been a best friend to him for so many years, the only woman he'd ever loved, and the woman he'd hurt the most. He was grieving for the past they'd left behind, a past of promises that were now broken, a past of dreams that had never been fulfilled. And maybe, just maybe, he was even grieving for himself.

_

* * *

_

_Jon- Sometimes we don't realize how much of a fool we've been until our actions have caught up with us in an irreversible form. To be blunt, I never should have married you. I ruined both of our lives, our children's lives- we were so young, with so much of our life ahead of us. And now, well, we're not exactly old, and already I feel the years pressing down on me, weighing me down. I can't help thinking that we denied ourselves of more than half of our lives, lives that should have been spent as best friends married to someone else. I have Seen that I am going to die soon, at the hands of your mistress. Please, Jon, send her from court, if only for my memory. Please. Keep Roger around- the children love him. And please- let Lianne choose, as much as you can. Don't imprison her the way we imprisoned ourselves. There was a long time when I was very angry at you. You tried to claim that my shield was not my own, you called me whore, bitch, you hit me, you had an affair and you lied to me. But now, being angry can't do anything but hurt. So I regret my decisions and apologize. I can only hope that you would do the same. I'm so sorry, Jon, for everything. And I love you. I always have, and I always will. _

–_Alanna_

* * *

That night, the king summoned his eldest daughter to him. Lianne of Conte went timidly to his study, and knocked on the door. She saw her father very little, and very rarely under pleasant circumstances. 

She fell gracefully into a deep curtsey, eyes fixed on the floor. "Lianne." The voice held its usual note of command- as well as a different tone that she'd never heard in it before. She rose, still keeping her eyes fixed to the floor. "Have I been that bad of a father? That my children won't even meet my eyes?" The words threw her off, so that she was forced to think for a moment before replying.

"Perhaps, Your Majesty," she said softly, raising her eyes to meet his. "It is what we have seen you do, that makes us afraid." His eyes flashed dangerously, and she ducked her head again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I've gone too far."

"No." His voice prompted her to raise her eyes again. "No, you haven't. In fact, it is I who must apologize." He met his daughter's eyes for the first time since she was a small child of three. "I am sorry for what I have done to you."

"What changed you?" she asked, stunned.

"Sometimes," he said, eyes gaining a faraway look. "We only realize how much of a fool we've been until the consequences of our actions have caught up with us." His eyes returned to hers. "Lianne, I have something that needs to be done. It's for your mother. I think, that you are one of the only people who can do it. Will you?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "Your Majesty."

* * *

Lianne of Conte, Princess of the realm of Tortall, knocked on the door of the large house, face hidden under the hood of her cloak, trying to escape from the rain that pounded down onto the streets of Port Caynn. 

"Are you sure this is the right house?" Roger grumbled beside her. "I'm freezing."

"This is what Father's contact said," she said crossly. "I'm just doing what I was told."

"How do you know-" he began, but was cut off as the door opened. A young man stared fiercely down at them.

"What do you want?" he challenged.

"I'm here with a message," Lianne said firmly. "For one George Cooper." _Whoever that is_.

"An' who are you to be deliverin' such a message?" he demanded. Lianne bit her lip, unsure what to say.

A middle-aged man looked over the younger man's shoulder. "What's goin' on?"

"Strangers, Marek," he said swiftly. "Claimin' they've a message for 'is Majesty." The older man's eyebrows snapped together. _His Majesty? But this man couldn't be a king, not living here and with a name like-_

"An' who are you?" he asked. Lianne shook her head in annoyance, and her hood fell back. Marek raised a lantern- and stepped back a pace in shock. "Alanna?" he whispered, stunned. "But no- ye can't be-"

"I'm Lianne," Lianne said quickly, taking advantage of his shock. "Alanna's daughter. Now, may we come out of the rain?"

"O' course," he said, moving aside to let her through into the hall. "Rand, get 'is Majesty." The young man scurried off to do what he was told.

Lianne and Roger waited quietly in the hall. One of Roger's hands rested on the hilt of the sword he'd brought with him. "An' who are you?" Marek asked, noticing him for the first time.

"Roger," he said tensely. "Of Eldorne." Marek raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "I am Her Highness' companion on this trip from Corus."

"Marek, what's this?" Lianne looked up at the new voice. The speaker was a tall man, of about her father's age. His brown hair was graying at the temples, and his hazel eyes held experience and command. He carried himself like one accustomed to being obeyed, much like her father always did.

"See for yerself, Majesty," Marek said tersely.

"Who are you?" 'Majesty' asked.

But she never got a change to answer. As he stepped off the stairs towards her, the lights came on in the hall, bright after the dark night. As he caught sight of her, his eyes widened with shock- and something else. His eyes flicked from Roger, then back to her. "Alanna," he whispered, much like Marek had done. But Marek's tone had not held the sadness and pain this man's voice held now. "Jon, Alanna, you-" But he shook his head, lowering the hand he had raised. "You can't be her. You're her daughter, aren't you? Jon's daughter."

"You know my father?" she asked, surprised as much by the bitterness and sorrow in his tone as the fact that he knew her parents. "And- Mother?"

"Aye," he said hoarsely. "I knew them- a long time ago. What brings you an' your half-brother to Port Caynn, Highness?"

Trying not to show her shock that he had recognized her and Roger so quickly, Lianne replied evasively. "We're on an errand for the king," she said quietly. "But before I may deliver the message, who are you? And how do you know who we are?"

"I am George Cooper," the man said quietly. "As to your companion- he had to be one of Jon's children and Jon would never send two of his heirs out together into Tortall, unguarded." He smiled sadly. "I taught him too well for that. Now, what's your message?" He said it as though the answer was something he wouldn't want to hear.

Wondering yet again who exactly this man was and how he knew her parents, Lianne, reluctant for some reason, told him. "We were sent to bear the sorrowful news. The Queen-" She stopped, unable to continue. George's face began to register a scared, almost pleading look, as though he was begging that what he suspected was not true.

"My mother," Roger said, spitting the word as though it was something to be ashamed of. "Killed her." His words rang in the sudden silence of the hall. Marek's face drained of color, and he looked swiftly at George Cooper.

His skin was sheet white, hazel eyes filled with an immeasurable pain. "Alanna's- dead?"

"I'm sorry," Lianne said softly. But somehow, it didn't begin to fill what she felt like she should be saying, what she wanted to say. "I'm so sorry."

"See them t' guest rooms," George said, voice choked. "I'll speak with you in the mornin'." He retreated as Marek watched. Once he had left, the man shook his head. Rand, who had reentered, looked confused and slightly dazed.

"I'll show ye t' guest rooms," Marek said, quietly, bowing to them. "Highness."

"I'm Lianne," she protested, following him.

"'Anne?" Roger asked softly as they walked. "What happened there?"

"I- I don't know," she admitted.

_

* * *

_

_She's dead. She can't be._ George stood out on the balcony of his room, looking out at the city. His sight blurred as tears filled his eyes. _How could you leave me, Alanna? I've been waiting for you for so long, love. And now, you're gone. The woman I've loved for so long, for so many years. _He lifted pain filled eyes to the heavens. "Trickster," he whispered. "Great Mother. How could you do this to us?" The tears in his eyes began to spill over. "What did she ever do to deserve this?"

He reached under his shirt, for the worn cord that hung there. He wasn't one for lovers' trinkets, but several weeks before Alanna had been married, he'd had matching rings made by a silversmith that he knew. One of them, he had given to her. The other, he had kept, all these years, hung around his neck, a silent reminder of the woman he loved. He pulled the ring from the cord, snapping it in one swift movement, before placing it on the ring finger of his left hand. _If only. If only._

As tears rolled down his cheeks, he stared up at the sky, vainly trying to invoke the Sight, his patron god, anything, to see something that wasn't there. A single cry of rage split the night, before he sank to the stone and cried, huddled like a small child. _I've loved you so long, Lioness. Ever so long. _

* * *

To George's credit, the rooms were not the reason neither Lianne nor Roger could sleep that night. They were well furnished, with comfortable beds. But though Lianne lay silent for a long time, sleep eluded her. Instead, thoughts swam through her head, things that did not make any sense, things that didn't fit together, things she understood all too well. 

Roger on the other hand, lay awake, for entirely different reasons. He had not had a quiet night to think since the Queen had been killed, and now that he had it, he was not sure that he liked it. He spent his night grappling with guilt and anger. Guilt because of the wrongs he had been born of, the pure maliciousness and thoughtlessness of his parents. But his anger was directed at the harlot who had dared call herself his mother. From the moment she had been free of him, she had begun working to regain her perfect figure, abandoning him to nurses to pursue the attentions of both t he king and Sir Alexander. The only time she had ever paid attention to him was to flaunt him in others faces or to use him to gain her own power. Other than that, she had been too preoccupied with the king and Sir Alexander. That knight had always scared Roger, and he'd kept well out of his way whenever he visited Delia's suite, which was often.

* * *

When a maid came to wake the two of them in the morning, she found both of them already awake. Roger was the possessor of black circles under his eyes that made him look slightly raccoon-like. Lianne just looked tired. 

George looked little better when they saw him in the study the maid showed them into. His face was drawn, hazel eyes looking large and full of pain over dark circles revealing that he too, had not slept at all.

Roger and Lianne accepted the breakfast the maid brought them and ate it, keeping one eye on George. He said nothing until they had finished, and the maid had cleared the dishes away. Then, he cleared his throat quietly.

"How did she die?" His question was quiet and all too clear.

"Delia killed her," Lianne said, equally quiet, staring at her hands. "She put a thorn under her saddle pad- her horse reared and she fell." Her mind revisited the horrible sight- blue skirts tumbling to the earth, her mother lying still in death.

George smiled bitterly. "Your mother and Delia always hated each other. I remember when she first came to court- she snared Jon, the slut. Alanna had a reputation for bein' shy of all the ladies, but with Delia- that wasn't shyness. That was hatred, plain and simple, just as Alanna hated Roger." Roger started. "Aye, she hated the Duke of Conte, all right." His eyes abruptly came back to the present. "But that was a long time since. More'n twenty years now."

"How- how did you know my parents?" Lianne ventured quietly.

George smiled slightly, a real smile for the first time. "I bet you don't know a whole lot 'bout your parents." Lianne shook her head. "I first met your mother when she was just a lass of ten. I was seventeen, or so. I had just become the Rogue." At Lianne's confused look, he elaborated. "The King of Thieves in Tortall." Lianne's eyes widened in shock, but she didn't dare interrupt the story she so desperately wanted to hear. George seemed to be forgetting he had an audience as he continued.

"We met on her first day in Corus." He smiled faintly, remembering. "Her servant, Coram, accused me –an' rightly so- of bein' a thief. She went up the hill and I didn' hear from her for a while. Then, into the city she came one day, her 'n her big friend Gary. Mind you, I thought she was a lad, an' so did everyone else, even Jon. Alan was her name, Alan of Trebond.

"We became friends fairly quickly. She came to visit me a lot, eventually bringin' Jon 'n' then Raoul down to meet me at the Dove. An' then," He smiled again. "She had a few problems with her disguise. Nothin' that no one else would notice, but rather troublesome for her. So she told me the truth. Have to admit, I was surprised. Alan was a girl. Not somethin' you hear about every day. But everythin' finally made sense too.

"We were friends, best friends. An' then," His eyes darkened. "'Round the time she turned fifteen, I- I began to fall in love with her. Problem was, I wasn't th' only one. See, Jon had found out she was a girl when they went to the Black City several years a'fore."

"That was Mother and Father?" Lianne exclaimed, interrupting. "I've heard the legend, but- I never knew it was them!"

"Oh, aye," he said. "That was Alanna and Jon all right. Jon found out she was a girl, and asked her t' be his squire- of course she said yes. He was also one of her closest friends- mine too. But he was noticin' she was a girl too- really noticin', even though at the time, he was sleepin' with your mother." He nodded at Roger. "Anyways, Alanna knew how I felt, and she knew how Jon felt. An' she chose him over me." His expression darkened. "I understood, and I was willin' t' wait. And I did.

"She became a knight, defeated the Conte Duke, who revealed her true sex to the whole court durin' their duel. An' she went to live with the Bazhir. A little while later, Jon followed her to the desert. An' he proposed. She said no, an' they got into a fight. He left, an' she stayed there, a shaman. An' I dared t' hope.

"But then, Their Majesties died, and she came back an' married Jon. An' you were born. I wasn' there for any of it- I couldn' stand t' see her, married to him. An' so I never knew what was happenin' to her."

Lianne's face clearly reflected her shock at what George had told her. "I never knew half of that- and she was my own mother! The Conte Duke, the Black City, the Bazhir- I didn't even know much about her time as a squire, aside from what I had managed to weasel out of Duke Gareth- Gary, I guess you know him as. And- I've never heard you mentioned."

"Not surprising'," he said quietly. "With th' way your father's been actin' t' her." He took a deep breath. "Ye're gonna need t' head back t' Corus soon, before your father starts worryin' about you two."

"I was actually thinking we would head back today," Roger broke in. Lianne glanced at him, but didn't comment.

"Jus' let me or Marek know, an' ye can leave whenever you want," George said. Though his voice was perfectly polite, Lianne had the distinct impression that he would hardly be disappointed to see them gone. Really, she couldn't blame him. Looking as much like her mother as she did, she must provide a ready knife to the heart.

"Thank you," she said, with genuine warmth. In the last few hours, she had really come to like and respect this man.

"Thank you for comin'," he replied. "Before ye leave, come t' me. I've somethin' for Jon." Lianne nodded.

"I will," she promised.

Hardly an hour later, she was standing next to Roger in the front hall, taking a thin package from George. Looking at the rain, still pounding down outside, she furrowed her brow and cast a spell on the package, to prevent it from getting soaked. Tucking the letter into her pack, she pulled up her hood against the rain. "I'll make sure it gets to him," she said quietly. He nodded, and left. A different young man was there to let her and Roger through into the streets of Port Caynn.

They made their way quickly through the streets to a local inn, of a good reputation. Roger had a quick discussion with the barkeep, and they were in the stables, saddling their mounts. Within minutes, they were on the road again, heading home.

* * *

Queen's Own: More coming soon, I promise!!!!!! I've been working really hard to get this out, so please review and make me feel appreciated. Huggles to anyone who reviews, and if you don't want huggles, you can have cookies. Who other than me has finished Trickster's Queen and thinks it's a good book??!! Ok, that was my random comment of the day. Now, until the next chap! Queen's Own 


	3. Epilogue II

Queen's Own: So here, as promised, is the second part of the epilogue. I realize that this is not technically an epilogue, but, there you go. Here's your chap.

Vira: We don't own Jon, Alanna, George, Tortall or anything else that you recognize from someplace other than the previous chaps of this fic (gee, what a surprise!).

* * *

Epilogue II

* * *

The rain had not ceased in their several days of traveling, and as a result, Lianne was soaked to the bone, not to mention exhausted, by the time they reached the palace. It was all too gratefully that she handed her mount over to one of the stablehands, and relinquished her saddlebags to the maid who appeared at her elbow to take to her rooms for her to sort through later. She and Roger –who was equally drenched and exhausted- staggered through the palace. Bidding him goodbye at the hall where he turned to his rooms, she continued until she reached the royal wing, turning immediately onto the hall where she and her brothers each had a set of rooms.

Lianne sighed, and unlocked the door of the suite she'd been given when she left the nursey. Shivering in her wet clothing, she opened the door. Closing the door behind her, she jumped at the sight of her younger brother, already inside.

"Lianne!" Roald stood from the comfortable chair in front of a merrily burning fire. She shot him an unamused glare from behind the straggles of wet hair obscuring her vision.

"I have just ridden to and from Port Caynn, stopping for no more than a day in between," she said irritably. "And that stop was hardly restful. I'm exhausted, drenched, confused and annoyed. So I'd advise you to say whatever you have to say quickly and leave me to sleep in a warm chair in dry clothing in front of the fire you have so generously started for me."

"I'm really sorry, 'Anne," Roald said sympathetically. "But the only one of the three you can attain at the moment is dry clothing. Father wants to see you. And I've got news while you're changing." Lianne sighed and stepped through the door into her bedroom. Roald followed as she grabbed a dry, clean dress of purple wool and ducked behind a screen in one corner of her room.

"So what's your news?" Lianne asked, voice slightly muffled.

"Delia of Eldorne is currently occupying a cell on Traitor's Hill," Roald said, unable to contain his glee. "And she won't be occupying it much longer. She and Lord Alexander have been formally charged of treason and murder. And you know as well as I what that means."

Lianne pulled on the dry dress on, marveling at the feeling of being relatively dry. "Father actually allowed her to be convicted?"

"More," Roald said, grinning even more broadly. "He sentenced her."

"What!" Lianne exclaimed.

"He sentenced her," Roald repeated. "She dressed like the whore she is, in green of course, smiled prettily and talked softly, proclaiming her innocence. When that didn't work, she tried bribing him –you know with what-, then pleading, still innocently, and crying very artistically. When even that didn't work, she begged, and then even dared to threaten him. Lord Alexander didn't even try anything. He's known Father longer than her, he knew as soon as they were brought in that it was a lost cause."

Lianne, dressed, emerged from behind the screen and gave her brother a hug. "Sorry for snapping at you," she said, as a maid bustled in, to retrieve the clothing she'd left behind the screen. Roald smiled.

"My news cheer you up?" he asked.

"Absolutely." Lianne's eyes sparkled with a slight hint of joy. As the maid stepped past, she retrieved her belt, along with it, the package George had given her. Roald raised an eyebrow.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's for Father," she said. Her eyes became a little more shadowed with the reminder of her visit to Port Caynn. "From an old friend." Roald laughed as they walked out the door.

"So mysterious, sister," he teased affectionately.

"I'm your older sister," she said, drawing herself up with mock dignity. "And don't you ever forget it."

To neither one's surprise, Jasson and Roger were waiting for them at the door to Jonathan's study. As Jasson saw them coming, he knocked on the door. The king's voice called, "Come in," from inside, and the four slipped inside.

"Back so soon?" Jonathan asked as they rose from their bows or curtsies, depending.

"We didn't want to stay two nights, Father," Lianne said quietly. "We wanted to get home as quickly as possible." He smiled slightly.

"And your traveling was safe and easy, I presume?" He raised one eyebrow. Lianne noticed that the king was as relaxed as she'd ever seen him. _Maybe we're beginning to see the man Mother married_, she thought.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Roger said from behind Lianne. "Everything went very smoothly."

"How was George?" the king asked, leaning back in his chair. The glint in his eye gave lie to his relaxed posture: the king was worried.

"He seemed well," Lianne said hesitantly. "He took the news of Mother's death rather- badly."

"How so?" Jonathan now looked very concerned about his former friend.

"He looked almost like a ghost," Lianne answered, still hesitant. "After we told him. And he looked as though he hadn't slept at all." Jonathan shook his head.

"I knew it," he murmured, almost to himself. "Still, after all these years."

"You knew?" Lianne blurted, surprised. "You knew that he loved her?" Jonathan looked up in surprise.

"How do you-" But he shook his head. "Never mind. I don't want to know. Yes I knew. I have always known. We were all friends- once."

"He sent a letter for you," Lianne said after a moment of awkward silence. She handed it to the king. He opened it, and pulled out a letter and an even smaller something that was hidden in his palm. Not even glancing at what that something was, he scanned the first line, eyes growing wider with every passing word.

"You are dismissed," he said absently, as he went back to the beginning and reread it. The four bowed or curtsied respectively and withdrew, varying degrees of shock and confusion showing on their faces.

"What was that all about?" Roald asked, as the door shut behind them.

"In Port Caynn," Roger said slowly. "We met a man named George Cooper…"

_

* * *

_

_Jon- I think it's time for me to return to Corus. It's been too long since we last met. We need to talk, it's true. But I think it will be more apologies than accusations. -George_

The King of Tortall set the letter on his desk silently. Even that short a letter gave him plenty to think about. He sat for a few minutes, staring at it. Then, slowly, he pulled a quill and paper from his desk and wrote.

_Come to Corus, though knowing you, you're on your way already. Mithros, it's been far too long since I've seen you. And the gods only know I need someone to talk to. And someone to apologize to. And someone I pray to forgive me. –Jon_

He sealed the letter and set it on his desk. It would be sent out later.

* * *

A hazel-eyed man stood in silence before the grave. The wind blew harshly- winter was approaching fast. Had anyone asked, he would have blamed that cold, fierce wind for the tears welling in his eyes. But all anyone who knew him had to do was look at the tombstone he was looking at to know the truth.

_Alanna of Conte_

_A Knight of the Realm of Tortall_

_A Good Queen_

_419 HE – 458 HE_

"It's been too long." George didn't jump at the voice from behind him, a voice that had once been familiar, that now he hadn't heard in years.

"That it has, Jon," he said, never moving his gaze from the grave.

The king came up to stand beside the man who had once been his best friend. "We have both known kingship," he said quietly, his eyes too focused on the grave. "We've both spent long nights, drinking and talking. I, at least, have learned much from you. And we have both loved the same woman."

"Are you sure?" George said quietly. "Are you sure we have both loved her?" Jonathan of Conte hesitated, and thought about a question he hadn't thought about since before Roald was born.

"Yes." And his voice did not quaver, his tone did not falter. "I have loved her. And it was because I loved her, that I trapped her." He turned to look at the other man. "Am I forgiven?" His blue eyes shone, though whether that was from emotion or from the wind, no one could say. "After all these years- am I forgiven?"

Hazel eyes met blue. And the two men embraced for the first time in twenty years. As they pulled apart, the tears in Jonathan's eyes became evident. "I'm sorry," he said. Gone was the powerful, arrogant king that Alanna and his children had seen for more than fifteen years. In his place, was a hint of the young prince who had met Alan of Trebond, thirty long years ago, grown and weathered, but still there. Unsure of himself for the first time in a long time, King Jonathan IV also felt a real smile begin to stretch his face, in spite of the tears. Or perhaps because of them.

"I'm not who you should be apologizin' to," George said evenly. The king turned to the tombstone.

"I'm sorry, Alanna," he whispered. The autumn breeze whipped color into his cheeks, making his eyes seem bluer than ever.

The wind whipped the trees around them, as George Cooper put one arm around Jonathan of Conte's shoulder and led him towards the palace.

* * *

In the spring, when old wounds had healed at last, a vine of small purple and red-gold flowers began to wind its way around the Lioness' tombstone. They were of a rare variety called Queen's Heart. Jonathan's new Spymaster, now a Baron, saw them and smiled.

When Lianne married Emperor Kaddar of Carthak that summer, she wore a wreath of the small flowers.

The flowers disappeared that autumn, and weren't seen again for many years. Ten years later, when Baron George died, the king commanded that he be buried on the other side of the queen. People raised their eyebrows, but said nothing. And the following spring, the Queen's Heart returned, covering both his grave and Alanna's. And this time it stayed.

* * *

Nine years later, Empress Lianne of Carthak clung to her half-brother's hand as King Jonathan IV's casket was lowered into the earth. The King's Champion, Roger of Eldorne smiled at his beloved sister. King Roald of Conte stood, pale and steadfast, flanked by his younger brother and closest advisor, Jasson, who made no attempt to hide the tears in his eyes.

When the funeral had ended, the king and his family waited until all the others had left. Then, silently, the king put his arm around his wife and the two of them left, followed by the Crown Prince of Tortall and his younger twin brothers. After a moment, Jasson and his wife followed them, he carrying their three year old girl, her belly rounded with their second. Lianne and Roger left together, the last to leave the cemetery. None of Lianne's four children or her husband had been able to leave Carthak, so she leaned on her only unmarried brother instead.

_King Jonathan of Conte IV_

_A Wise and Just Ruler_

_Much Beloved by All_

_416 HE – 480 HE_

The following spring, the Queen's Heart spread to cover his grave as well. And it has been said, on spring nights when the Goddess' Lamp is full if you go to that graveyard, you can hear laughter, ringing through the trees. The king, the lioness and the rogue were free at last.

* * *

Queen's Own: Yeah!! Done at last! Though now I am tempted to write a fic on Lianne and Kaddar…Oh, just review!! Tell me if I should write about Lianne and Kaddar and tell me how I did on this one. I know the ending was a little weird, but oh well. It's late at night.

The dates on Alanna's and Jon's tombstones were educated approximations on my part. My apologies if you can find any errors with my work. Please tell me in a review if you have corrections to make to those approximations.

Thank you to all who reviewed- please make my day and review this last chapter as well. Wind to thy wings! -Queen's Own


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